


Words, Words, Words

by au_sein_et_sans



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Fluff, Just a bit of fun, M/M, Not so much romance, Oneshot, enjoltaire - Freeform, exr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:23:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4698992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/au_sein_et_sans/pseuds/au_sein_et_sans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finds out Grantaire can speak French kind of by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words, Words, Words

The ABC Cafe in Brooklyn was kind of a motley crew, in Enjolras's mind. They all came from a number of places, most of them originating from right there in the city. Like Joly and Marius, they were both from Manhattan. Oh, and Courfeyrac, he was from Jersey. 

Feuilly and Jehan were both from the United Kingdom, and Joly's girlfriend Musichetta was from Ireland. Combeferre was Haitian, Bahorel was from the Phillipines, and Bossuet's parents were South Indian but he was raised in New York with the rest of them. 

Because of these vast reaching cultures and languages, they all spoke English when they were together, never really delving into their mother tongue unless they found someone else who could speak it. That being said, English was the connecting factor, the only language that wasn't a barrier between any of them. 

This was one of the reasons why Enjolras was under the impression that none of them knew French. His half-sister, Éponine, never came to the meetings and neither did Gavroche, and the two of them were the only people that spoke French that Enjolras even knew of. There was that bank teller on 34th street, and all the chefs on 5th avenue, but none of his friends. Or, he thought. 

The fact that Enjolras was French wasn't a secret. He wore it on the tip of his tongue with every word he said. Not to mention the particularly infamous incident when he tried to speak about minimum wage and his words got so garbled from his mind to his mouth that a debate ensued over whether he had been speaking about condominiums or Minnie Mouse. 

In the past, Enjolras spoke freely in French when he was thinking something over aloud, and wasn't ready to voice it to the rest of them. Or when he was nervous, rushed, or angry, in certain bouts of passion. And at times, he indulged himself to play small inside jokes on his friends, muttering to himself in a language they couldn't understand. And if anyone had any recognition of what he was saying, they didn't show it.

This is why, when Enjolras's work folder (containing his newest client's highly confidential arraignment papers) spilled across the sticky floor of the pub, and he exploded out in truly obscene language in his original dialect, he was almost positive no one would understand him. 

As Combeferre and Musichetta, who were nearest to him at the time, dove to help him collect the documents, Enjolras shot a nervous glance upwards just in case he had frightened anyone with his temper. No one seemed particularly distraught, and Enjolras eased out a breath and focused on minimizing any damage already done. 

It wasn't, of course, until he heard the great bouts of uproarious laughter that he lifted his head again.

Ah yes, Grantaire. Although he would usually be able to ignore the boy, Enjolras found himself unsettled by his reaction in this moment. There was the off chance that Grantaire was feeling particularly sadistic and found the event of Enjolras's inevitable humiliation in court hilarious, but by the way Grantaire was so obviously beside himself, Enjolras had to be sure there was something else. Enjolras was struck with the overwhelming feeling as though he had some sort of sign taped to his back that he wasn't aware of.

"What?" Enjolras demanded, ruthlessly, hoping the shade his face was turning wasn't too embarrassing. "What is it?"

The words Grantaire spoke next weren't anything great or memorable, but they made Enjolras's stomach flop uncomfortably. Not because of their content, but because they were in _French_. 

As he stood there, realization dawning as smoothly as a blindfold ripped from his eyes, Enjolras racked his brain for what it was  _exactly_ he had said. 

"Truly, Enjolras, I," Grantaire bat pretend tears away from his eyes as ABC members looked cautiously between the two of them, "I didn't know you had it in you!" This caused Grantaire to throw himself into another fit of hysteria, as if this were the funniest thing he had ever thought to say. 

This seemed almost too awful to be true. Enjolras considered the possibility that this was all some cruel joke Grantaire was playing on him. He decided to test it. " _Why should I believe you understand anything at all_?" Enjolras asked in French, more of a challenge than anything else. He was ultimately prepared to have boxed Grantaire in a corner. 

Grantaire, melodramatically catching his breath, was silent. 

 _If this is in fact a trick,_ thought Enjolras smugly,  _it will be very simple to disprove._

" _I think you'll be surprised to know_ ," the response came so easily to Grantaire that Enjolras had to double check what language the boy was answering in, " _that I understand a quite deal more than you give me credit for_." _  
_

This was not what Enjolras wanted to hear. 

However, this was apparently what the rest of the friends wanted to hear, as Combeferre let out a triumphant whooping sound, and they laughed where they sat. Enjolras still stood, sticky papers in hand, dumbfounded like a fool. 

"Well, I suppose we've got a man on the inside!" Joly proclaimed above the noise, "inside Enjolras's head, that is!"

This wasn't the most sparkling revelation ever made, and Joly knew this, but in the heat of the moment none of them cared as they laughed louder and more raucously. Grantaire seemed almost genuinely shocked that his little talent was being appreciated to this extent. 

Enjolras felt as though he had been caught in a lie, and at the same time had just caught Grantaire in a lie as well. " _You're not French_ ," was his brilliant response. 

Grantaire shrugged a shoulder. " _I lived there for two and a half years._ "

This was news to Enjolras. This exchange happened over the noise and all of the friends chatting at each other until Jehan suddenly realized it was taking place. 

"Well, hey now, Grantaire, tell us what he's saying!" Jehan leaned forward in his chair, and the rest of the group mimicked his actions. They had suddenly grown very quiet. 

Surprisingly, Grantaire did not speak. Instead he raised an eyebrow towards Enjolras and tilted his head down. The physical actions almost seemed as though he was asking for permission, although Enjolras knew this was more of a taunt than an offering. 

"Oh, no, no, I've got it," said Cosette from a corner, her cheeks flushed red with excitement, "why don't you just tell us what the  _worst_ thing he's ever said is?"

If there was any air left in the room it was lost on Enjolras. His chest constricted, and he took a step back. He could not think in this moment, what the worst thing he had ever said was, but judging by the look on Grantaire's face -  _he did_. There was no telling, now, what Grantaire knew and didn't know. 

"The worst or the naughtiest?" Grantaire asked, innocently, his eyes still boring razor sharp holes into Enjolras's own. 

Enjolras was fairly certain he had never said anything dirty in Grantaire's presence (or so he hoped,  _desperately_ ) but this did nothing to calm his agitated nerves. 

The group howled with laughter, either not noticing or completely ignoring Enjolras's discomfort. Enjolras could not tell, but Grantaire was quietly surprised how interested they were at what Enjolras murmured every night. And then, at the same time, he was unsurprised, because Enjolras's off the cuff commentary was, in fact, what kept him coming back every day. 

It wasn't just that Grantaire was startled by how  _funny_ Enjolras was, but also how mean, and playful. In the back of his mind, Grantaire knew he was invading into a world that Enjolras had believed was entirely his own, but every time Enjolras made a comment to himself about Jehan's choice of poetry, or cracked a joke about Cosette's lack of timeliness, and Grantaire had to choke down bouts of laughter this ethical conundrum was forgotten.

Meanwhile, the ABC cafe was still egging him on. 

Enjolras shifted his feet nervously, as it seemed as though Grantaire was lost intently in thought. No doubt scrounging up the life-ruining piece of blackmail that would cause Enjolras to flee, tail tucked humiliatingly between his legs. Enjolras wondered how evil a person could be. 

Enjolras tried to betray his tone of voice from his friends as he said, " _go on. What's the worst that you have?_ "

The sides of Grantaire's mouth quirked up at this challenge. 

" _Consult your secret stockpile of ammunition against me. Is that why you come here? To torment me?_ " This was, perhaps, harsher than Enjolras intended originally. And as Grantaire's sly smile suddenly disappeared, Enjolras instantly regretted it. 

" _And maybe I will_ ," Grantaire suddenly stood, and the cafe was quiet again. The sky had grown dark outside, and they were the only ones left there. The silence that the friends could not possibly understand stretched on unbearably. " _I'll tell them all. Everything you've said about their thoughts, their lives, their clothes._ "

Enjolras gestured his hands, palms up, as if to say 'go ahead'. 

" _Everything you've ever said about me._ "

A shameful memory clouded Enjolras's focus for a moment. He was embarrassed by how quickly he was able to summon that memory of Grantaire entering the cafe on a rainy Saturday afternoon last April, red cotton shirt clinging to his skin from the storm outside. How his hair looked dripping teardrops of water on the table he hunched over in the corner. Enjolras had smiled to himself on the train home, because (and this part really stung) he had said nearly everything he felt about Grantaire to the back of that red shirt, content that he would never understand. 

It was fitting that the cafe had stopped laughing and chattering, because Enjolras might not have been able to take it if they hadn't. He was not able to look Grantaire in the eye, nor able to speak the vernacular he had been raised on. Any language, any words at all. He found none. 

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you all," Grantaire's voice rang through the room like a bell, "but the inside of Enjolras's head is really rather dull."

A few of them scoffed in response, but Enjolras could hardly hear this over the sound of his own heart beating in his chest. 

"I've learned quite a deal more about his clients at 'the firm' than I'd care to," Grantaire lied without hesitation, "and I could tell you exactly what Enjolras is going to put on his grocery list as soon as he goes home tonight." 

"And what's that?" Musichetta humored him. 

"Eggs," was Grantaire's cunning response. This was another lie, Cosette had actually picked up a new carton of eggs just the other day. Throwing a look at her, Enjolras found she was none the wiser, and had a quick laugh at the fact that she probably believed he was some sort of egg fiend. The warm smile that spread across his face at this thought gave him the courage to look back up at Grantaire who was leaned back in his chair, addressing the crowd as if he were on stage. 

"And what he said just now?" Bahorel asked, pointing to the area where the papers had fallen. 

"Swearing, mostly." (Apparently Grantaire used the term 'mostly' very loosely.) "But it was, as I've implied, the worst he's ever done."

Enjolras sat in quiet wonder, careful not to test his luck. 

"I really wish I had more to report, but Enjolras just truly does not have a naughty bone in his body." Finally, as Grantaire pulled his eyes back to Enjolras, it was clear to both of them that this was the most brilliant lie he had told out of all of them. 

Really, Grantaire's red shirt would know. 

"That's disappointing," came Marius's response a few moments later, and the group eased back into their calmer state, nearly forgetting the tension from before. As bright of a liar as Grantaire was, the group knew there had to be something he was leaving out. Which they were right about, of course, but (bless their hearts) they didn't press. 

One by one, they announced that it was time to go, the festivities of the day clearly wearing them out. Enjolras was startled to see how late it was, realizing he had court tomorrow, and he really couldn't spend the whole night at the bar. And maybe it would be best to leave sooner rather than later which might possibly save him from another round of public humiliation. 

As admirable as this idea was, Enjolras found himself the last to leave, still finding papers half stuck to the floor, alone in the dark cafe. 

Or, he _thought_. 

"You're welcome," came a voice from behind him, and Enjolras startled upwards, banging his head hard against the underside of the table he had been crouched underneath. "Oh! Sorry."

Grantaire extended an arm from above, and Enjolras took it, allowing the boy to pull him back up to his feet, into a more dignified position. As if Enjolras had any dignity left. 

"You're welcome," Grantaire repeated, a satisfied smirk now forming on his lips, although not a terribly patronizing one. 

Enjolras shook his head, intent on remaining angry, no matter what the light was doing to the angles of Grantaire's face. "And what do you suppose I'm thanking you for? Embarrassing me in front of everyone I know? Or perhaps _eavesdropping_ on everything I was saying, without giving me any heads up or warnings at all?"

Grantaire did not respond, and the grin was still stuck on his face. 

"Really. There was nothing. No: 'hey, Enjolras, I can understand everything you're saying, so out of respect of  _your privacy_ I'm going to go ahead and let you know that I know French.'" Enjolras was doing a good job getting himself worked up, and he began to slam his papers into his briefcase methodically with his words. "And how random is that really? That you just  _happen_ to know French, the one secret niche I have. The one foothold I have in this...," Enjolras found it was getting too personal, and his words trailed off into dissatisfied grumbling. 

He now turned back towards Grantaire, whose grin had reduced into a soft smile that made Enjolras feel all shades of blue. "I just find it unnerving that you can read my mind and I can't read yours."

Grantaire chuckled lowly to himself. "I'm an open book," and to Enjolras's eyeroll he added, " _really._ All you have to do is ask."

"Ask?" Enjolras did nothing to keep the doubt from his voice. "Fine.  _Fine._ Alright." He clicked his briefcase closed, and his hand stilled on top of it. He really had no reason to stay there. He could just turn around and leave. Maybe even get a good nights sleep. Salvage what was the rest of his night. "Why didn't you tell me you understood me?"

Grantaire's expression wavered for a moment, as though he had totally expected this question to be coming but at the same time not known how to answer it. "Honestly?"

Enjolras was still. 

"I felt as though if I told you, then you would stop."

The self-destructive nook of Enjolras's brain let him replay in his mind the memory of Grantaire that Saturday in April, and the smile he hid behind his hand, that Enjolras had convinced himself over and over  _wasn't real_. 

Enjolras hadn't even realized, too lost in thoughts of  _what if_ , to see that Grantaire had pushed past him, and Enjolras tore around to see Grantaire with one hand on the doorknob of the cafe, the black night pulling him forward out of Enjolras's view. 

"Really, Enjolras, it's probably for the best that you can't read my mind," Grantaire said in his perfectly cryptic way. "I wouldn't want you to be scandalized."

This made Enjolras's stomach do all sorts of things, and as soon as Grantaire left his knees collapsed into the nearest chair. Grantaire's last  _au revoir_ still hung in the air like a huge uninvited presence. 

Even so, Enjolras allowed himself to smile. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this to make myself feel better because i just lost like a 40,000 word draft :))) im ok tho
> 
> i realized that i've only successfully published oneshots but oh my god i swear i will write and finish a chaptered fic i promise seriously im sorry


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